the bystander watches
the self aggrandizing
bastard
fellate himself
for the hundredth time
in the last three days
and for the ninety ninth time
wonders to himself
why pistols at dawn
are no longer the answer
to the question of
how to shut
the vociferous moron
up

he mutters to himself
to keep calm
that only those
that scream for attention
the loudest
are the ones
that deserve it
the least
but it still sticks in his craw
that it doesn’t lessen
the pollution emanating
from flaccid lips
of the pestilent idiot

some people deserve
a pat on the back
for a job well done
while others deserve
a dagger slid between
the third and fourth rib
the braggarts tongue
like a whetstone
across the blade
the bystander keeps
barely sheathed
in his mind
dreaming of
pistols at dawn